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Chapter Text

He likes it, he loves it, seeing you, his sleeping girlfriend, and imagining taking advantage of you when you're vulnerable. But yet he restrains himself so hard not to touch you when you're asleep. It's becoming a real torture for him. He's never dared to talk about this kind of shameful feeling, of admiring you at night and dreaming of fucking you while you're asleep. It's really his ultimate fantasy to want to take advantage of you while you're unconscious, but from a legal and ethical point of view, this can really be fatal for him. Yet he always waits for you at bedtime, making sure you go to bed and fall asleep before him. As usual, you go to bed before your boyfriend and fall asleep peacefully, without knowing that he's going to make a move tonight. He knows you are currently taking sleeping pills before to get in the bed, so he patiently waits for them to take effect before joining you. He joins you in the bedroom as usual, shirtless and wearing only pajamas shorts, with nothing underneath. He stands in the doorway for a good couple of minutes, watching your sleeping form under the sheets. His eyes darken, and his nostrils flare as he takes in the sight of you, peaceful and unaware. His eyes roam up and down your body, imagining every little thing he can't have right now, his desire warring with the guilt. He approaches the bed, and his fingertips lightly trace your bare arm that was out of the blankets, goosebumps rising on his skin as he touches you. He sits down gently on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake you up. He leans in closer to you, his gaze darkening further as he looks at your face, so peaceful in sleep. His hand continues to wander, stroking your arm lightly, his touch so light it's barely there. He shifts on the bed, his body pressed closer to your side as he reaches over and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing over your skin, his heart racing with anticipation. He takes a moment to gather himself, his hand still lingering on your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw slowly, almost lovingly. He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes roving over you, his desire for you growing stronger with each passing moment. He moves even closer to you, his body now practically draped over yours, his hand dropping to your waist, gripping you lightly, his fingers pressing into your skin as he tries to restrain himself. He leans in even closer, his face now only inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. He can smell you so intensely like this, his gaze locked on your lips, his self-control slowly unraveling. He moves even closer, his body pressing against yours now, his hand moving to your chin, tilting your head back slightly as he stares down at you like a man possessed, his desire for you becoming almost overwhelming.

Luigi's heart pounds in his chest as he watches you drift off to sleep, your breathing slow and even. He can't tear his gaze away from the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft curves of your body beneath the covers. A mix of desire and self-loathing swirls inside him as he recalls the dark thoughts that plague him at night. The urge to take what he wants, consequences be damned, is a constant battle. But he knows it's wrong, morally reprehensible and could destroy everything he has. He forces himself to step back, giving you space as usual before changing into his pajamas. As he slips on a pair of loose boxers, Luigi's mind races with forbidden fantasies. His cock stirs to life at the thought of sliding between your thighs while you're lost in slumber. With a deep breath, Luigi tries to push those desires aside once more. He climbs into bed beside you, careful not to touch anywhere intimate as he settles under the blankets. He can't hold back his desire for you any longer. He moves swiftly, approaching you slowly with his body, his eyes darkened with desire. He leans down, his face mere inches from yours, the heat radiating between you, and his breath heavy against your skin. His lips crash down on yours in a rough, hungry kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as he tastes you, his body pressing against you tightly. He kisses you like a man dying of thirst, as if you are the only thing keeping him alive. He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily as he hovers above you, his eyes roaming over your face. He realizes you're still asleep, and a part of him feels guilty for taking advantage of this situation. However, the desire and the thrill of having you all to himself take over his thoughts, his eyes darkening as he looks at you, his breath hitching in his throat. He leans down again, his lips brushing against your ear, his words a low, hoarse whisper. "You have no idea how long I've wanted you like this," he says, his voice thick with desire. "So helpless and vulnerable, all mine to do as I please." He kisses your earlobe gently, his lips trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin as he sucks and bites lightly, marking you as his. His body is pressed tight against you, pinning you down, as his hands begin to roam over your body, his touch possessive.

"I know I shouldn't be doing this," he breathes, his mouth moving down your collarbone, his tongue tracing your skin, marking you with his lips. "But I can't help it. I've been wanting you for too long, need you so badly." He nuzzles your neck, his hands roaming over your body, his touch rough and impatient as as if he can't get enough of you. "You wouldn't even fight back," he whispers, his voice low and raspy. "You'd just let me do whatever I want to you, wouldn't you?" He leans down, his lips close to your ear, as he talks to himself, his voice low and hoarse with desire, his hand tracing over your face, his touch light. "You're so vulnerable like this," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. "So unable to resist or fight back. It's like a dream." Luigi's breath hitches in his throat as he takes in the sight of you, so beautiful and helpless beneath him. His hands roam over your curves, mapping out every inch of skin he's aching to claim. He leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, teasing kiss before trailing down your neck. His teeth graze your skin, leaving faint marks that serve as a claiming brand. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," Luigi whispers hotly against your earlobe. "To have you all to myself like this... it's intoxicating." His fingers dance across your collarbone before delving lower, tracing the swell of your breasts through the fabric of your nightgown. He can feel the heat emanating from you, matching the fire raging within him. "I know it's wrong," Luigi admits gruffly between kisses and nips along your jawline. "But I can't stop myself. The thought of taking what I want from you without fear of resistance... it drives me wild." He captures your mouth again in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim every inch of you. His hips grind against yours, the hard length of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh.

Luigi's hands slip beneath your nightgown, his fingers splaying across the soft skin of your stomach as he pulls the fabric up. He breaks the kiss to gaze down at you, his eyes dark with lust and a hint of reverence. His breath is erratic, he is tracing a finger along the delicate curve of your hip bone before sliding it between your thighs. "I've dreamed about this moment for so long." He gently parts your legs, settling himself between them as his hand explores further. Luigi's touch is feather-light at first, teasing over the sensitive flesh before growing bolder. His thumb finds your clit, circling it slowly as he watches you respond. "You're so responsive even in sleep," Luigi murmurs in awe, his voice thick with desire. "I can feel how much you want this... how much you crave my touch." With that confession hanging heavy in the air, Luigi leans down to capture your lips once more in a deepening kiss. His free hand slides up to cup one breast through the thin fabric of your gown while his thumb continues its relentless circles over your clit. Luigi's touch is electric, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your veins even as you remain lost in slumber. His fingers dance across your skin with a skill that speaks to countless hours of fantasizing about this very moment. As he teases and caresses you, Luigi's own arousal grows more insistent against your thigh. The heat emanating from him is palpable, a tangible manifestation of the desire that has consumed him for so long. "I need to taste you," Luigi whispers against your lips before trailing his mouth down the column of your throat. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if committing every scent to memory. With deliberate slowness, Luigi tugs at the hem of your nightgown, exposing inch after inch of creamy skin until it pools around your waist. He gazes upon you with reverence, drinking in the sight of pale flesh and rosy nipples beckoning his attention. "So beautiful," he breathes reverently before leaning down to capture one pebbled bud between his lips. His tongue swirls around the sensitive nub, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Luigi's hands roam over your body as he worships you with his mouth, exploring every curve and valley with a touch that is both tender and possessive. He lavishes attention on each breast in turn, suckling and nibbling until you're arching into his touch despite your slumber. As Luigi continues his sensual assault, his own arousal grows more insistent. The fabric of his boxers rubs against the sensitive skin of his cock, providing a tantalizing friction that only serves to heighten his desire. With a low groan, he breaks away from your breasts to trail open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. His hands slide beneath your nightgown once more, this time pushing it up and off entirely as he bares you to his hungry gaze. "I've wanted this for so long," Luigi whispers hoarsely as he takes in the sight of you spread before him like an offering. "To see you like this... completely vulnerable and mine." He leans forward, pressing tender kisses along your inner thighs as if savoring every inch of skin. His breath is hot against your flesh, sending shivers racing up your spine even in sleep. "You have no idea how much I crave you," Luigi murmurs against your thigh before nuzzling into the soft hair at its apex. Slowly, deliberately, he parts your legs wider with gentle pressure, his gaze locked on the glistening folds of your sex. He tries to hold your unconscious legs with his two big hands, you really have a heavy sleep. Luigi's tongue darts out to taste you, a single flick that has you twitching and whimpering in your sleep. "So sweet," he groans against your core before delving deeper, his tongue swirling around your clit with deliberate slowness.

Luigi's hands grip your hips as he feasts upon you, his fingers digging into the flesh as if to anchor himself against the overwhelming desire coursing through him. "I could spend hours like this," he whispers between licks and sucks, drinking every drop of your essence. As he continues his sensual assault, Luigi can feel the tension building within him. His cock throbs insistently against his belly, begging for release even as he focuses all his attention on bringing you pleasure. "You're so responsive even asleep," Luigi marvels aloud as he feels your body tremble beneath him. "I can tell exactly how close you are... how much more I need to do to make you come undone." With renewed determination, Luigi redoubles his efforts, his tongue and lips working in tandem to drive you closer to the edge. He can feel your arousal coating his chin, a testament to the intensity of your response. "Come for me," Luigi commands softly against your clit, his voice husky with desire. "Let me taste your release... let me hear you scream my name even you still sleeping." As if spurred on by his words, your body begins to quake and shudder beneath him. Luigi's fingers dig into your hips as he holds you steady, never breaking contact with your throbbing sex. Luigi's tongue works feverishly against your clit, the pressure and rhythm building to a crescendo. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers as you teeter on the brink of climax. "That's it," he groans against your sensitive flesh, "give in to it..." A low moan escapes your lips as pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave. You feel your orgasm coming, for you right now, you feel like you're acting a little too realistic. Your back unconscious arches off the bed, pushing your hips forward into Luigi's eager mouth as waves of ecstasy wash through you. Luigi drinks in every spasming contraction of your sex, lapping up the sweet nectar that gushes forth with each tremor. His own arousal is at a fever pitch now, straining painfully against the confines of his boxers. He gasps between licks and sucks, still riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm with his skilled mouth. As you slowly come down from that intense high, Luigi finally pulls away to gaze up at you with lust-glazed eyes. A string of saliva connects his lower lip to your slick folds, a testament to the intensity of his oral worship. "You're incredible," he breathes, his voice rough with desire. Luigi's hands roam over your body once more, tracing the curves and valleys of your spent form with reverent touch. He presses tender kisses along your inner thighs before settling between them again. "I'm not done with you yet," he whispers against your core, his eyes darkening with renewed hunger. With that promise hanging in the air, Luigi leans down to capture your lips in a deep, searing kiss. You begin to feel his tongue against your mouth after your sleepy orgasm, which brings you out of your heavy sleep but with difficulty. His tongue delves into your mouth as he rolls his hips forward, grinding his straining cock against yours.

Luigi's breath hitches in his throat as he watches you begin to stir, your eyelids fluttering open just a crack. He knows he needs to act fast if he wants to claim you before full consciousness returns. With urgent need driving him forward, Luigi positions himself between your thighs once more. His fingers deftly push aside the damp folds of your sex, seeking out the entrance that beckons him. "Shh," he whispers against your lips, "just relax... let me take care of everything." As if sensing his intent, you moan softly and arch into him unconsciously, granting Luigi the access he craves. With a low groan of satisfaction, he lines up his throbbing cock with your slick heat and begins to push inside. "You feel incredible," Luigi gasps as inch after inch of hard flesh sinks into you. "So tight... so wet for me already." He pauses for a moment when fully sheathed within you, savoring the exquisite sensation of being buried deep inside your welcoming body. The warmth envelops him like a velvet glove, the snugness a perfect fit for his girth. "Are you okay?" Luigi asks softly, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "I don't want to hurt you... not even when I'm inside your amazing body like this." You nod weakly in response, still half-asleep but you're clearly unaware of the situation and even think that you are having an erotic dream that is a little too realistic. Encouraged by your compliance, Luigi begins to move, withdrawing slowly before pushing back in with deliberate slowness. "Fuck," he curses under his breath at the incredible sensation of sliding in and out of your clenching heat. "You were made for me... designed to take my cock so perfectly." Luigi sets a steady rhythm, each thrust driving him deeper into your welcoming depths. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as he picks up speed, driven by an insatiable hunger to claim every inch of you. "Look at me," Luigi commands hoarsely as he pounds into you from above. Your eyelids are half open, still lethargic but the pleasure washes over you in waves. You gaze up at Luigi with dazed, lust-filled eyes as he continues to rut into you with abandon. "So beautiful," he pants, his hips snapping forward in a frenzy of need. "Watching you take my cock like this... it's the most erotic thing I've ever seen." Luigi's hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise as he loses himself in the primal act of taking what is his. The headboard slams against the wall with each powerful thrust, punctuating the lewd sounds of flesh meeting flesh. "You're mine," Luigi growls possessively, his voice raw with desire. He leans down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans and whimpers as he claims your mouth just as thoroughly as he claims your body.

As consciousness returns, a wave of shock and confusion washes over you. Your mind struggles to process the situation. Luigi's body on top of yours, his hips still thrusting with relentless purpose. "Wait," you manage to gasp out, your voice shaking with a mix of fear and disbelief. "What... what are you doing?" Luigi's rhythm falters for a moment at your words, but he quickly recovers, his eyes burning with an intense hunger as they lock onto yours. "I'm taking what I've wanted for so long," he admits gruffly, his breath coming in ragged pants as he continues to drive into you. His hands grip your hips harder, almost painfully so, as if trying to anchor himself against the rising tide of panic in your expression. "You're mine now," Luigi declares possessively, his voice low and rough with desire. Despite the alarm clear in your eyes, he shows no signs of slowing down or stopping. If anything, Luigi seems driven by a desperate need to claim every last inch of you before reality sets in. "Just let go," he urges, his thrusts growing more erratic as he chases his own release. You try to twist your hips away, but Luigi's grip is unyielding. He pins you down with a weight that leaves no room for escape, his body a living barrier between you and any hope of fleeing this nightmare. "Please," you whimper, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as fear and humiliation mix in equal measure. "Stop... it hurts." Luigi's expression softens slightly at your plea, but the lust in his eyes remains unabated. He leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of protest even as he continues to rut into you with single-minded focus. "Shh," he murmurs against your mouth, "just take it... let me make you feel good before I'm done." The words send a chill down your spine 'before I'm done'. As if this was just another conquest for him to cross off his list once satisfied. You struggle beneath him futilely, your body instinctively trying to shield itself from the violation even as Luigi's cock continues its relentless invasion.

Luigi's thrusts grow more urgent, his hips snapping forward with a desperate intensity. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his grunts of pleasure as he chases his climax. "So close," he gasps against your skin, "just a little more... fuck." His words are punctuated by the lewd slap of flesh meeting flesh as he pounds into you with reckless abandon. You can feel him throbbing inside you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it threatens to snap. "I'm going to come," Luigi warns breathlessly, "and I want you to take it all... every last drop." With those final words, he slams deep one last time before stilling completely. Luigi's thrusts grow more forceful, his hips slamming into yours with a brutal intensity that leaves you gasping for breath. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your muffled cries and Luigi's guttural grunts of pleasure. "You're so tight," he groans, his voice strained as he fights to maintain control. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he pounds into you with abandon. You can feel every ridge and vein of his cock stroking along your inner walls, the sensation both overwhelming and nauseating. "Look at me," Luigi commands hoarsely, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. Tears stream down your face unchecked as you stare up at him in horror. His eyes are wild with lust, pupils blown wide as he loses himself in the primal act of taking what is not freely given. "I've wanted this for so long," Luigi admits between ragged breaths. "To have you like this... completely mine." The words hang heavy in the air, a chilling declaration of possession that sends a shiver of revulsion down your spine. You try to turn your head away, but Luigi's grip on your chin is unyielding. "Don't look away," he growls, his thrusts growing more erratic as he chases his climax. "Face what you've unleashed... face me." Luigi's body tenses above you, his hips jerking forward in short, sharp thrusts as he teeters on the brink of release. The sound of his pleasure mingles with your own cries of distress, creating a discordant symphony that fills the room. "Come for me," Luigi demands hoarsely, his voice rough with need. As if obeying some dark command, your body begins to tremble and quake beneath him. A strangled moan escapes your lips as waves of unwanted pleasure crash over you once more. "That's it," Luigi groans triumphantly as he feels your walls clench around him. "Take it... take everything I give you." With a final deep thrust, Luigi buries himself to the hilt inside you and stills, his cock pulsing as he spills his release deep within your quivering depths. A low groan rumbles in his chest as wave after wave of orgasm crashes over him, filling you with hot spurts of seed. "Oh god," Luigi moans brokenly above you, "fuck yes... that's it." His eyes remain locked onto yours, a look of savage satisfaction etched on his face as he rides out the aftershocks of his climax. He stays buried inside you for long moments after climaxing, savoring the aftershocks of pleasure and the warm, sticky evidence of his release coating your insides. Only when he's finally spent does Luigi pull out with a soft pop, leaving you feeling empty and used. "You're amazing," he breathes, his voice still husky with post-coital satisfaction as he gazes down at you. But in that moment, all you can feel is shame and betrayal, not the slightest hint of admiration or affection for the man who just violated your body so callously.

Luigi's words hang in the air, a hollow compliment that does nothing to ease the sting of his actions. He looks down at you with a mix of satisfaction and something akin to reverence, as if he's just performed some sacred rite. "You're perfect," he murmurs, reaching out to trace a finger along your jawline. The touch sends a shiver through you, not from pleasure but from revulsion. You try to turn away, but Luigi's grip on your chin holds firm. "Look at me," he commands softly, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze and what you see there chills you to the bone. There's no remorse or regret in those dark depths; only a smug self-satisfaction and an unspoken promise of more where this came from. "I knew it would be incredible," Luigi says with a satisfied smile. "And now... now I have something truly special." He leans in close again, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "You're mine now, Y/N. Forever and always." Luigi's words send a shiver down your spine, the implication of his claim hitting you like a punch to the gut. You try to shake your head in denial, but he tightens his grip on your chin, holding you still as he gazes into your eyes with an unnerving intensity. "Don't fight it," Luigi murmurs, his voice low and soothing despite the darkness in his expression. "You know deep down that this is where you belong... with me." His fingers trail down from your jaw to cup your cheek possessively, thumb stroking over your lower lip as if marking you as his property. The touch sends a wave of revulsion through you, but Luigi seems oblivious to any discomfort he may be causing. "I'll take care of you," he promises softly, "in every way possible. You won't want for anything ever again." The sincerity in his tone is palpable, yet it only serves to heighten the sense of unease creeping up your spine. There's something unsettling about the way Luigi speaks - not just about claiming ownership over another person, but the implied threat lurking beneath his words. "You're not going anywhere," Luigi adds with a firm nod, "not now that I've found you. We'll be together always... just like this." He punctuates his statement by pressing his body against yours once more, the heat of him seeping into your skin as he surrounds you completely. You can feel the hard planes of his chest and abdomen pressed to your softer curves, the weight of him pinning you down without mercy. "I love it when you look at me like that," Luigi whispers huskily in your ear. "So vulnerable... so trusting. It makes me want to do even more for you." His hands roam over your body with renewed purpose, fingers tracing patterns on your skin as if mapping out every inch of territory claimed. The sensation is both invasive and unnerving, leaving you feeling exposed and helpless beneath his touch. "Just relax," Luigi coaxes softly, "let me take care of everything. You don't have to think or worry about anything ever again." The promise is tempting, especially in the aftermath of such intense physical pleasure. But as Luigi's fingers dip lower, brushing against your most intimate places with a possessive touch, you can't shake the feeling that this 'care' comes with a steep price one you may not be willing to pay.

Luigi's hands continue their exploration, his fingers delving deeper into your most sensitive areas with a possessive touch that leaves you feeling vulnerable and exposed. Despite the initial shock and revulsion, your body begins to respond once more, a traitorous warmth spreading through your core as he strokes and teases. "See?" Luigi murmurs against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "Your body knows what it wants... even if you don't." He punctuates his words with a slow thrust of his hips, the hard length of him pressing insistently against your thigh. The sensation is both thrilling and terrifying, leaving you torn between desire and dread. "Please," you whimper softly, "I can't... I don't know if I can do this again so soon." But Luigi just chuckles low in his throat, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Of course you can," he assures you confidently. "You're made for pleasure... for taking everything I have to give." His fingers find their way back to your entrance, circling teasingly before pushing inside with a slow, deliberate stroke. You gasp at the intrusion, your body instinctively clenching around his probing digits. "That's it," Luigi encourages softly, "just relax and let me in... I promise it'll feel amazing." He begins to move his fingers in a steady rhythm, curling them just so to hit that perfect spot deep inside you. The pleasure builds slowly but surely, coiling tighter and tighter until you're panting and writhing beneath him. "You like that little slut?" Luigi asks huskily as he watches your face contort with bliss. "Tell me how good it feels... let me hear you moan my name." The command sends a jolt of electricity through your veins, not just from the intense pleasure coursing through you, but from the dark undercurrent of dominance lacing Luigi's words. You try to resist the urge to comply, but as another wave of ecstasy crashes over you, all coherent thought flees your mind. "Luigi!" you cry out involuntarily, "oh god yes... don't stop!" The sound of your own voice, so wanton and desperate, sends a flush of shame through you even as Luigi's fingers continue their relentless stroking. He groans in satisfaction at your response. Luigi drives his fingers deep inside you one last time before curling them just right. The pressure is too much; pleasure explodes through every nerve ending as your body convulses around him. "Fuck yes," Luigi growls triumphantly above you, "come for me... now!" Your orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping and trembling beneath the weight of Luigi's satisfied form. As the aftershocks slowly subside, he withdraws his fingers with a soft pop, leaving behind a trail of slick evidence that only serves to heighten the sense of violation lingering within you.

Luigi's eyes gleam with a possessive light as he gazes down at you, his chest still heaving from the intensity of your shared pleasure. He reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle yet firm, a stark contrast to the roughness that came before. "You're incredible," Luigi murmurs, his voice low and husky with satisfaction. "I knew you would be... but this? This is beyond anything I could have imagined." He leans in close, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The tenderness is unexpected after the raw intensity of their coupling, leaving you feeling disoriented and off-balance. "Rest now," Luigi whispers against your mouth, "you've earned it." With those words, he carefully extracts himself from your entwined bodies and slips out of bed. You watch him move with a mix of curiosity and wariness as he pads over to pour two glasses of water from the nightstand basin. "Here," Luigi says gently as he hands one glass to you, "drink up. You'll need to stay hydrated after all that exercise." The casual remark about 'exercise' sends a shiver down your spine, the implication of his words hanging heavy in the air. As you take a tentative sip of water, Luigi settles back onto the bed beside you, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you close. "Now sleep," he murmurs into your hair, "I'll be right here when you wake up." With those final reassurances, Luigi's breathing begins to even out as he drifts off into slumber, leaving you wide awake, confused about the situation and grappling with the aftermath of what just transpired.

Chapter Text

The silence is the first thing you notice. Not the light peeking through the curtains. Not the cool air against your skin. Just the silence. It’s thick, oppressive, the kind that doesn’t just fill the room, but creeps into your chest. You never really fell back asleep. Not after he did what he did. You lay still for hours, unmoving beneath the sheets, your eyes wide open in the dark, heart beating far too fast to belong to a resting body. Luigi had curled up beside you, calm, breathing steady. But you remained awake, alert, trapped in your own body, uncertain if what happened was real… or some fevered dream you couldn’t escape. Now, the light has changed, but the tension hasn’t. You shift slightly in the bed. Your muscles ache. Your mind is foggy, like you’ve woken from anesthesia rather than rest. You feel raw. Scraped from the inside. Luigi lies beside you, on his back, eyes already open. He doesn’t look at you at first, just stares at the ceiling, unmoving. Like he’s waiting for something. Then, he speaks. Calmly. Too calmly.

“Did you sleep well?”

You hesitate. Then nod. A lie. Instinctive. He turns his head and looks at you. You can’t read the look in his eyes. Not exactly guilt. Not exactly satisfaction either. Something murkier. You glance away, throat dry. He sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll make coffee,” he says, voice flat. You nod again. Still silent. You listen to the sound of his footsteps retreating. The soft click of the kitchen light. The distant clatter of a cup. But none of it sounds real. You pull the covers up tighter around yourself. Your skin still burns where he touched you. And somewhere inside you, a voice whispers the question you’re not ready to face: Did it matter to him if I was?

You find him in the kitchen, standing by the counter, pouring coffee like it’s just another morning. But it’s not. You watch the way his shoulders move, relaxed. Too relaxed. The way he hums, quietly, off-key. A tune you don’t recognize. Your hands are trembling, barely holding onto the fabric of your oversized shirt. You feel small. Unsteady. But something inside you is tightening, hardening. You can’t keep it down anymore. "Luigi." He turns around slowly, cup in hand, a casual smile on his face. "Morning again." He raises the mug slightly. "Coffee?" You shake your head. "No." His smile falters. Just a little. You cross your arms over your chest, not because you're cold, but because you're suddenly aware of your body of the way he looked at it, touched it, took it. He leans against the counter. “You okay?” The words are simple. They hang in the air between you like smoke, harmless, until you breathe them in. You swallow hard. “Why you did this ?” He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Why what ?” Your stomach twists. You force the next words out. “You awaken me, Luigi.” Silence. This time it’s sharper. It slices the space between you cleanly, leaves it gaping open. He blinks, but doesn’t answer. You step forward. “I felt everything when I was asleep. I didn’t say anything because… I couldn’t. I didn’t know what was happening. I thought I was dreaming at first. But I wasn’t.” Luigi places the mug down on the counter, slowly. His face is blank now. Controlled. But his jaw tightens. “I didn’t think-” he starts, but stops himself. You cut in, voice lower now, trembling. “You knew I was on sleeping pills. You waited. You... waited for me to be still.” He opens his mouth again. You hold up a hand. “No,” you say. “Let me talk.” He obeys. That’s almost worse. You feel your throat tighten, a pressure behind your eyes. “That wasn’t sex. That wasn’t love. You didn’t ask me. You didn’t wait for me to say yes. You just did what you wanted. And I didn’t stop you because I couldn’t.” The truth of it lands like a brick. In your stomach. In his silence. “I trusted you,” you whisper. He takes a step forward, hands slightly raised. “I thought you wanted it. You moaned my name. You-” “I was asleep!” you snap. “You were touching me while I was unconscious and I-” Your voice cracks. “God, Luigi. That’s not okay. That’s never okay.” He looks stunned. Like the weight of your words is only just beginning to reach him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, quietly.

“But you did.” You take a deep breath, eyes locked on his. “And I don’t know what that makes you now. But I know what it makes me feel like.” You don’t say the word. You don’t have to. Because he finally looks away. He stares at the floor long after she stops talking. His breath is shallow. His pulse thunders in his ears. Her words echo like a verdict he never thought he’d hear, not from her. Not like this. "You didn’t ask me. You just did what you wanted." He grips the edge of the counter. Knuckles white. Nails digging into the wood. He can’t look at you now. Not after that. No one had ever said it to him that way before. Not in those exact words. Not so calm, so final. And now that it’s out, it’s like something inside him is cracking. He tells himself he didn’t mean to hurt you. That he thought you wanted it. That you didn’t stop him. But even in his mind, the excuses fall flat. You couldn’t stop him. And he knew. But he hears the desperation in that now, the pathetic need to frame your response as consent, when he knows, deep down, that your body’s reaction wasn’t permission. It was biology. Reflex. He remembers the weight of her body beneath him. The softness of your skin. The way your eyes fluttered open too late. And the voice in his head, the one he silenced so many nights, had whispered that he was crossing a line. And he did. "I didn’t mean to hurt you." What a useless thing to say. Luigi presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. Shame burns hot in his chest, but it’s tangled with something else, something ugly. A stubborn resistance. A whisper that says she still loves you, that it wasn’t that bad, that if you explain it right, maybe she’ll understand. But a louder voice in his head, the one he’s been drowning out for too long, finally speaks: You violated her.

He exhales sharply. His chest aches. He wants to scream, to punch the wall, to smash every mirror in this goddamn apartment. Not because he hates himself, not yet, but because he's afraid. Afraid of what he’s done. Afraid of who he really is when no one’s watching. Afraid that the one person who saw the best in him has finally seen the worst and won’t ever look at him the same again. He turns around slowly. You're still standing there. Eyes wet. Shoulders stiff. And for the first time, Luigi doesn’t know what to say. So he doesn’t say anything at all. He just looks at you, and sees the distance that’s opened between them, a distance that no apology can cross. You don’t move. The silence after your words is heavier than anything he’s said. He stares at the floor, shoulders hunched like he’s been struck, not by your voice, but by what it carried. The truth laid bare. Not screamed, not thrown in his face, just… spoken. And maybe that’s what undoes him. He lifts his head, slow, as if the air itself has thickened. His eyes search yours, wild, rimmed with a shimmer he doesn’t hide. “Don’t leave,” he says, voice thin, ragged. Something in him is unraveling, thread by thread, and he’s no longer the man who stood over you last night, full of want and certainty. That version of him has vanished. What remains is smaller. Fractured. “I didn’t mean to…” he starts, but the sentence breaks apart in his throat. His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. “I told myself it was okay because you didn’t stop me. Because you said my name. Because you didn’t wake up angry or push me away or…” His breath catches. “But I knew. I knew, even as I touched you, that you weren’t there with me.” The crack in his voice splinters the air between you. “I told myself it was love,” he says, eyes glassy, almost feverish. “That it was some deeper kind of connection. That it was intimacy, not violence. But it wasn’t, was it?”

You don’t answer. He takes a step, then falters, as if the weight of the moment has finally made his body too heavy to hold. He drops to his knees, the sound soft, almost reverent. He looks up at you like a man condemned. “I don’t know who I am without you,” he says, and it doesn’t sound poetic. It sounds broken. Ugly. Real. His hands are open now, resting on his thighs. He makes no move to touch you. No gesture to close the space between your bodies. “I crossed a line I can’t uncross. I know that. But I need you to know I see it. I see what I did. And if you tell me to disappear, I will. If you tell me to rot in the guilt of this night for the rest of my life, I will. Just don’t-” His voice catches. A single tear falls, unnoticed. “Don’t vanish. Please. Let me try. Let me become something better, even if you can’t love me anymore.” His words hang there, trembling. You feel them land, each one like a stone against your ribs. Not soft. Not redemptive. But real. And cruel in their own way — because part of you wants to believe he means them. Part of you wishes it were enough. But nothing feels enough now. You’re still there. Still standing. Still unsure whether your presence is an act of mercy or denial. And Luigi, on his knees, waits for a verdict that may never come. You look at him. Not the man he was last night, not even the man he was the first time he made you laugh until you forgot how heavy the world could be. You look at this man, kneeling, stripped of his defences and you see all of it at once. The boyish charm that once disarmed you, the warmth of his chest on nights you couldn’t sleep, the hunger in his eyes that used to make you feel wanted, chosen. And now, the fear. The fear that he’s broken something that love alone cannot mend. And god, you still love him.

That’s the cruelty of it. The ache beneath your ribs that never left, even as the shame curled around your body like a second skin. You want to hate him. Part of you does. But it withers each time you remember his laugh, his tenderness, the way he once held you like something precious. Love doesn’t vanish because someone wounds you. It lingers. It aches. It complicates the clarity you wish you had. You kneel too, slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal or a younger version of yourself. He doesn’t speak. You don’t touch him yet. His hands tremble on his thighs and his breath is uneven, and in his eyes is something raw and unbearable, remorse, maybe, or just fear of being unloved. You say it softly, your voice nearly cracking: “I don’t hate you.” It hurts to say it, not because it’s untrue, but because of everything it implies. You watch his shoulders shudder as the air rushes from his lungs. He thinks those words are a reprieve. He’s wrong. “I still love you,” you continue, quieter, as if the sentence itself might shatter in your mouth. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not hurt. It doesn’t mean I’m not scared of what last night revealed. Of what you did when you thought I wouldn’t wake. Of what it means when someone you trust stops waiting for your yes.” You look down at your own hands, pale and steady in your lap. They feel foreign. Lighter than they should be. His gaze is still on you, wet with something unspeakable. You can feel it pressing against you, the need, the apology, the desperate hope that you might stitch this together just by staying. “I don’t know how to move forward from this,” you say. “I just know I’m not ready to move away from you.” You reach for his hand, not tightly, not with certainty, just enough to feel the tremble of him. His skin is warm, too warm. You don’t squeeze. You don’t speak. You just let the silence return between your bodies, thick as smoke, familiar now. The kind that doesn’t hurt, but doesn’t soothe either. He is still on his knees. You are still beside him. And in that hush that follows, you feel the weight of love not as comfort, but as burden. You are still here. But something has changed. And neither of you knows yet if it’s survivable.

Night falls slowly, like a curtain being drawn over a stage that no longer knows what play it’s performing. The apartment is quiet, lit only by the low amber hue of a single bedside lamp. The day has passed in silence, not the cold kind, but the type that hums just under the skin, full of things neither of you could say twice. You haven’t spoken much since the kitchen floor. Not because there’s nothing left to say, but because you both know that words have edges now, and one wrong phrase might reopen something still bleeding. The sheets are freshly changed. You watched him do it without a word. He didn’t look at you while he smoothed the fabric, but his hands trembled slightly, betraying everything his silence tried to conceal. Now, the bed waits, neutral, indifferent, a landscape you once knew intimately and now approach like foreign ground. You stand in the doorway, still in your clothes, your body heavy with the ache of a day spent holding yourself upright. He’s already inside, lying on his side, facing the wall. He hasn’t turned around. You wonder if he’s pretending to sleep, or if he simply doesn’t trust himself to look at you in this hour, under this light. The room smells like linen and something faintly citrus, the ghost of detergent clinging to cotton. You step inside, slowly. Every movement feels deliberate, rehearsed. You sit on the edge of the bed, not yet claiming your half. The mattress shifts beneath you, responsive, alive with memory. You breathe. His voice comes, quiet, without turning. “You don’t have to sleep here.” A pause. Not long, but enough for your heart to answer before your mouth does. “I know.” You lie down. You don’t touch. Not your shoulders, not your feet, not even the air between your arms. You simply lie beside him, on your back, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if it might offer an exit, or a sign. His breath is steady, but not peaceful. Yours is not steady at all. Minutes pass. Or hours. It doesn’t matter. You don’t sleep. Neither does he. And still, you’re here. Two bodies on a bed that once held laughter and now holds something else, fragile, bruised, but not yet broken. Night folds over you like a tentative hand. It doesn’t soothe. But it covers you both, and maybe that’s enough, for now.

The silence stretches long, but not cold. There is warmth now, quiet, hesitant, like a candle flickering after a storm. You lie beside him, breathing in tandem, not touching, and yet you feel him everywhere. The closeness, the weight of what passed between you, the question still unanswered in the space between your bodies. And then, slowly, as if pulled by something older than thought, you turn to face him. He’s still curled slightly, facing the wall, his back tense beneath the cotton of his shirt. You move closer, inch by inch, until you can see the curve of his jaw in the low light, the way his lashes rest too still for sleep. You reach for him. Your fingers graze his shoulder, gentle, and he flinches, not from fear, but from the fragile hope that this touch might be real. He rolls toward you, eyes wide, uncertain, as if daring to believe. And then, without a word, you kiss him. Not because you’ve forgotten, not because you’ve forgiven, but because you choose this. Choose him. Under your own conditions. In your own time. The kiss is slow. Measured. There is no desperation in it, no force. Just the soft brush of your mouth against his, like a line being redrawn, not erased. His hands don’t move. He’s letting you lead. For once, completely. You pull back, barely, just enough to whisper. “If we’re going to stay in this,” you say, voice low, “we need rules. Real ones.” His eyes search yours, waiting, not daring to speak. You breathe in, steady. “When I sleep without underwear,” you say, “it means I’m giving you permission. You don’t have to wake me. You don’t have to ask. That will be my way of saying yes.” He swallows. His throat moves like something’s caught in it. You go on. “If I wear them, it means no. It means not tonight. Not like that. It means wait for me. Really wait.” His voice comes at last, hoarse, almost inaudible. “And if I forget? If I... misunderstand?” You shake your head. “Then we stop. We talk. You don’t touch me until it’s clear. There’s no room for confusion anymore. None.” A beat. His hand lifts, hovers, and you let it rest lightly on your waist, not possessive, not urgent, just present. Grateful. “I can do that,” he murmurs, like a vow. “I’ll remember.” You nod, the weight in your chest loosening by a breath. There’s still so much left to rebuild. So many shadows to clear. But in this moment, in this bed, with your own voice shaping the terms, you feel something close to power. Closer still to peace. You settle beside him, this time letting your bodies touch, lightly, fully clothed, skin to skin only where it counts. Tonight, you’ll sleep. And if not sleep, you’ll rest. Because now, there’s a wordless agreement between you. And because the silence between two people can carry love, but only if it also carries consent.

Morning drips slowly through the curtains, pale and hesitant, casting long golden lines across the bed. The room is silent but not empty. Your breath rises and falls steadily beside him, warm and slow, your body curled near his, as if sleep has softened every edge that the night before had carved so sharply. Luigi wakes before you. He doesn't know what rouses him, maybe the shift of light, maybe the faint change in your breath, maybe something deeper. He lies still at first, caught in the fragile space between rest and awareness, unsure if you are truly asleep or simply quiet in that private way you sometimes are. Then he shifts, just slightly. His hand brushes your hip beneath the sheets. Bare skin. No fabric. Nothing. He stills, his pulse quickening. You are no longer wearing your underwear. The realization lands softly, but it echoes through him like thunder. It is not an accident. It is not carelessness. It is a message, quiet, unmistakable. A wordless yes, given not with your mouth, but with your body, laid bare in the night. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t call your name. Instead, something unravels inside him, slow, reverent, shaken. Not desire as he once knew it, frantic and consuming. No, this is something quieter. Hungrier in a different way. Grateful. Desperate not to waste what he’s been given. His hand glides along your thigh, careful, exploring the skin he once feared he would never touch again. He moves closer to you, not with urgency but with a kind of fragile awe, as if this gesture, this permission is too sacred to take lightly. His breath warms the curve of your neck. His fingers draw soft lines down your belly, memorizing. Asking, not demanding. You do not stir. But your body does not recoil. It welcomes him, slowly, like the sea opens for the moon. Luigi lowers his head. His mouth finds the inside of your thigh, and he kisses you like he is praying. Not for forgiveness, but for mercy. For the chance to love you, finally, in the space you’ve offered, not taken. He worships. And in the quiet hush of morning, as the light grows bolder and the world begins to stir beyond the glass, he learns what it means to be allowed, to be wanted. Not because you are his. But because you are yours and you have chosen, this time, to let him in.

Luigi's lips trail soft kisses along your inner thigh, each one a reverent touch, a prayer of gratitude. His breath mingles with the warmth of his skin as he savors this moment, this permission to love you without restraint. Slowly, deliberately, Luigi's hand slides higher up your body, fingertips grazing the gentle swell of your stomach before coming to rest just below your breasts. He pauses there for a long moment, heart pounding in anticipation and awe. "Y/N," he whispers against your skin, "I don't know what I did to deserve this... but thank you. Thank you for trusting me enough to give me this." His voice is filled with emotion, relief, wonder, adoration, as they pour out his gratitude in hushed tones. "I promise I'll never take it for granted. Never hurt you again." With trembling hands, Luigi gently cups your breasts, marveling at the soft weight of them in his palms. He brushes his thumbs over your nipples, watching with rapt attention as he hardens under his touch. "Ahh... Y/N," he breathes out, "You're so beautiful like this..." Luigi leans down to capture one pebbled nipple between his lips. He suckles softly, sending jolts of pleasure through your body even as you remain lost in slumber. His free hand roams lower still, fingers tracing the curve of your hip before delving between your thighs. "May I?" Luigi murmurs against your skin, "I want to make sure you're comfortable... that this feels good for you." His questing fingers find slick heat and Luigi gasps quietly at the evidence of desire still burning within you despite sleep's claim. Luigi's touch turns gentle yet purposeful as they explore your most intimate places, savoring the feel of you even in repose. He strokes along your slit, collecting the dew of arousal before circling your clit with a feather-light touch. "You're so responsive," he whispers against your breast, "Even like this... it's incredible." Luigi continues to lavish attention on your sensitive flesh, gradually increasing his ministrations as he gauges your reactions. Each sigh, each subtle shift in position guides him towards giving you pleasure without waking you. "As much as I want to watch you come undone," Luigi murmurs huskily, "I don't want to disturb our moment... or risk hurting you unintentionally." With that thought uppermost in his mind, Luigi shifts position slightly and begins to slide a finger inside you while continuing to stimulate your clit with his thumb.

Your body starts to stir, Luigi's movements slow, becoming more gentle. He senses the shift in your awareness and want to be mindful not to overwhelm you. "Y/N... are you awake?" Luigi whispers, his voice a soothing murmur against your skin. "I don't want to rush this." He pauses his ministrations for a moment, letting you adjust to being fully conscious again. Luigi's hand remains resting between your thighs, fingers still lightly tracing circles around your clit. "If it's too much," he continues softly, "just let me know and I'll stop. But if you're okay with it..." Luigi leans up slightly and captures your lips in a tender kiss, pouring all his gratitude and affection into the embrace. "I promise I'll take care of you," he vows quietly as he breaks away from the kiss. "Whatever happens next... we face it together." Your eyes flutter open, hazy with sleep as you gaze up at Luigi. He looks back at you with a mix of adoration and trepidation, his hand still resting between your thighs. "Morning," you murmur, your voice thick with lingering drowsiness. "You are... busy." A soft blush colors Luigi's cheeks as he realizes how obvious his activities must have been. He glances down at the sheets, noting the telltale dampness where arousal has mingled with morning dew. "I'm sorry if I woke you," Luigi says quietly, "I didn't mean to disturb you. But when I felt... when I realized..." He trails off, struggling to find the right words amidst the swirl of emotions coursing through him, gratitude for this moment, fear of losing it again, and an overwhelming desire to make things right between you. "You're welcome here," you reassure him gently, "in every way that matters." Your words are like a balm to Luigi's soul. He leans in closer, pressing his forehead against yours in a silent thank you. A gentle smile spreading across their face. He pulls back just enough to gaze into your eyes, drinking in the warmth and trust he sees reflected there. "I'll be gentle," Luigi promises, "I'll take my time... I just... I need this moment with you."

With that, Luigi begins to move atop you, positioning himself between your thighs. His hands roam over your body with reverence as he settles against you. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, "inside and out." Slowly, deliberately, Luigi starts to lower himself onto you. Each inch is a testament to his control and respect for your boundaries. When he is fully seated within you, he pauses for a moment simply savoring the sensation of being joined once more. "Ahh..." Luigi breathes out, "you feel incredible." With a gentle rock of his hips, Luigi begins to move inside you. It's a slow, sensual rhythm at first, each thrust measured and deliberate as he seeks to prolong the pleasure for both of you. "As much as I want to lose myself in this," Luigi murmurs against your lips, "I don't want to rush it. I just... I need to savor every moment with you." His words are punctuated by soft kisses along your jawline and the tender caress of his fingers on your skin. Luigi is determined to make this lovemaking session one filled with tenderness, passion, and deep connection. Luigi's movements gradually gain momentum as he falls into a natural rhythm with your body. Each thrust is deep and deliberate, hitting that sweet spot within you that makes your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. "Oh, Y/N..." he groans softly, "you're so responsive... it's incredible." His praise sends a flush of heat through you, making your inner walls clench around Luigi even tighter. He responds by increasing his pace slightly, hips snapping against yours in a sensual dance. Luigi reaches down to circle your clit with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to send shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you. "That's it, mhhh..." You encourage him gently. With Luigi's skilled touch and the intense connection between them, it doesn't take long for the coil of tension inside you to tighten impossibly before finally snapping. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body trembling and quivering as waves of ecstasy wash through you. "Luigi!" you cry out, your voice raw with pleasure, "oh god...!" The intensity of your climax seems to trigger Luigi's own release. He throws his head back with a low moan, hips stuttering as he buries himself deep inside you one final time. "Ahh... Cheyenne," he gasps out, "I love you..." As the aftershocks slowly subside, Luigi collapses onto you, cradling your face in his hands as he gazes into your eyes with adoration.

You don’t know how much time has passed. Minutes, maybe more. The air has shifted, warmer, quieter, filled with the kind of stillness that doesn’t ask questions. You lie together tangled in the sheets, your skin flushed, damp, and somehow weightless, as if your body has forgotten how to hold tension. Luigi is beside you. He hasn’t moved far. One arm is draped around your waist, the other curled gently under your head. His hand strokes your back in slow, almost meditative circles, as if reminding himself that you're here, that you're real, that the softness of your skin hasn’t vanished with the moment. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. His touch says everything, I see you, I hear you, I’m staying. Your head rests on his chest, listening to the thud of his heart, steady and deep. You count the beats without meaning to. There’s no rush now. No more sharp edges. Just warmth. Just breath. He kisses your temple. Then your forehead. Then nothing, just the quiet pressure of his lips resting against your skin like a promise without words. “You okay?” he whispers eventually, voice thick with emotion. You nod against him, and his grip tightens slightly. Not possessive. Protective. He shifts just enough to pull the blanket over your legs, careful not to let in the cold. You feel his fingertips brush the inside of your thigh, but there's no hunger in the gesture anymore, only care, only comfort. He presses his forehead to yours and exhales slowly, like he’s letting go of something heavy. “Thank you,” he murmurs, not for the sex, not for the body, but for the trust. For staying. The room is filled with the quiet hum of the morning, birds outside, the wind nudging the curtains. Inside, it smells like linen and skin and something softer. Like forgiveness. Like home. You curl closer. And for the first time in what feels like days, your body is light. Not because everything is fixed. Not because the past has vanished. But because you’ve chosen to carry the future, together. And right now, in the hush of this shared breath, it feels enough. And when the morning light spills fully across the bed, you stay there in his arms, not because he holds you, but because this time, you choose not to rise.